***James***
"JAMES. What is that?" my father barks loudly.
He has caught me and Joel nursing our sore heads at the breakfast bar, in the kitchen of my family home. It is almost noon and Joel and I have only just made it down to the kitchen for a hot drink; this is one of the few times I have gratefully accepted a coffee over tea.
I rub my face and look at my father through a squint as he stares at me in annoyance from the other side of the bar.
"I will need you to be more descriptive," I say bluntly, feeling rather worse for wear.
"A tattoo?" he replies. I drop my hands from my face and look back at him apologetically.
Rats.
Sober James probably would have remembered not to sit down in the kitchen topless. Hungover James did not really give a toss.
"Busted," Joel exclaims next to m
